


Night

by princessraya



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Despression, Drinking, Endverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessraya/pseuds/princessraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights Dean is alright, but sometimes the only thing that can hold him steady is Cas. So when the whiskey runs out again and he can't stop shaking, he finds himself stumbling to the ex- angel's cabin yet again, silently begging him to somehow make things alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night

Dean lay on his stomach and tried to remember how to breathe. It was late, and he needed to sleep, but there was something dark curled in the back if his throat.

Maybe he just needed a drink, he decided. He dragged himself up and stumbled to the cupboard, but all the bottles were empty. He pawed through them, pushing them aside with shaking hands. One tumbled from the shelf, ricocheted off the counter and shattered. Dean didn’t even flinch. Finally he found one bottle of whiskey, way in the back, that still had a half inch of golden liquid in the bottom. He snatched it, and gulped it down in one go. It barely burned. 

Dean shoved the cupboard doors closed and paced the room, his bare feet scuffing against the cold wood floor. His eyes burned with exhaustion but he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even lie down. His fingers curled into fists around the hems of his shirt. The dark thing inside of him was hungry, and he didn’t have anything to calm it. He needed a drink, porn, something. 

He needed Cas.  
Dean stumbled out into the night before he could think things through, slamming the door behind him. Not like his head was clear enough to contemplate things anyways. He was tearing himself apart from the inside out, and the worst of it was that he hardly worried about it anymore. He could imagine, with cold detachment, pulling out his gun and pressing it to his temple. He would have done it ages ago too, if not for all the people counting on him, all the responsibilities. And Cas of course. He couldn’t leave Cas. If Dean was screwed up, then the angel was positively psychotic. If you could even call him an angel anymore. 

It was only a short walk, but when Cas’ cabin came into sight, Dean was already shivering. Bare feet in November might not have been the best idea, but Dean had had other things on his mind. Though the curtains were closed, Dean was relieved to see a light burning behind them. He took the steps two at a time and knocked on the door, wrapping his arms around himself. 

There was a shuffling of movement on the other side of the door, and then it swung open to reveal a tired looking Cas. His hair stuck up in the back, there were circles under his eyes, and he wore only a slightly rumpled blue linen shirt over his boxers. When he saw who it was, he smiled. “Ah, Dean. What can I do for you, my fearless leader?” 

Dean didn’t answer. He fixated on the word ‘my,’ clinging to the proof there was at least one person left worth fighting for. “Cas..I-” he said in a low voice, and Cas seemed to understand. He always did. Wordlessly he pulled Dean inside and shut the door behind him. The room was dim, and the air was thick with the smell of incense, wax and smoke. Cas regarded Dean for a moment, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around him. 

Dean was shaking so hard his teeth chattered, and he let Cas run warm, callused, hands up his back and into his hair. He pressed his nose against Cas’ neck and used the musky sweet scent of him to try and center himself. It didn’t help much. He needed more than just the smell, he needed to touch him, taste him. 

With rough abandon, and hands still shaking, he pushed Cas backwards until his back hit the slatted wooden wall. Then he dipped his head and kissed Cas’ neck so hard that the angel let out a small, strangled whimper of surprise. Dean kept his eyes closed, because Cas was a fragile, broken thing and he didn’t want to watch himself be rough. But he had to. It felt like there was no more softness left in him. The dark thing was thick in his chest and he scrambled to drag that wrinkled blue shirt over Cas’ head. 

Cas didn’t protest. As if understanding innately what Dean needed, he let Dean drag his lips and teeth across his skin for a moment, before grasping the hunter firmly by the shoulders and turning him around. Dean stopped for a second, surprised to find his own back pressed against the wall. He blinked, and then Cas’ lips crashed against his in sloppy desperation. 

Dean told himself after every time he slunk off to Cas’ that he needed to stop, that it was wrong, that it wasn’t how you were supposed to act with your friends. But every time he felt those hands on his bare skin he forgot everything, sometimes even the darkness. Cas’ fingers moved to the buttons of Dean’s shirt, and Dean dug his fingers into Cas’ back, already breathing hard. 

The last button slipped free, and Dean let his shirt fall atop Cas’ on the floor, before pressing himself as close to Cas as he could. The warmth of skin against skin, the way Cas would stop kissing him sometimes just to breathe against his neck, it was the only way Dean felt ok these days. Cas was the only drug strong enough to erase the past, even if it was only for a little while. Dean buried his fingers in Cas’ hair, palms cupping his cheekbones, and kissed him almost savagely. He traced the the inside of his lips, and then bit down until Cas gasped and bit him back. 

Sometimes Dean wondered what it would be like to touch Cas gently, without the animalistic desperation and fear and pain that drove him to Cas’ cabin in the first place. But Cas was the only thing that made him feel safe, and he couldn’t afford niceties. He needed his fix. Cas, with his usual gentle ways, never seemed to mind though. Watching Cas go from quiet to commanding in a matter of seconds aroused Dean more than he cared to admit. 

He was drawn back from his thoughts as Cas half dragged him across the room to his small bed, shoved him down and climbed on top of him. “Cas, fuck..” Dean gasped, closing his eyes as fingers slid beneath the waistband of his boxers. He didn’t last long. A few hard strokes and he was coming, hands bunched tightly in the blankets. And the the darkness was gone and the fear and the restlessness, and he could breathe again. 

Dean’s exhaustion took over quickly, once the tension was gone. He tried to reach down and touch Cas, to repay him for the pleasure and calm, but Cas pushed his hands away, pressing gentle kisses to his heavy eyelids. “Sleep Dean. I’ve got this,” he murmured. Dean barely heard him climax, but he felt the sticky warmth on his stomach, and the weight of an arm around his waist as Cas settled in next to him. He tried to fight the welcome numbness, but sleep tugged at him insistently. “Cas? I..I..have to tell you…” He slurred, the words not quite forming on his lips. But Cas touched his cheek and whispered. “I know Dean. I know.”


End file.
